


We All Fall Down

by Raven_At_The_Writing_Desk



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ash - Freeform, Golem - Freeform, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_At_The_Writing_Desk/pseuds/Raven_At_The_Writing_Desk
Summary: A story based on the prompt Ash. Blame Waldos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	We All Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaldosAkimbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/gifts).



“I don’t understand,” he stood, looking at the mess at his feet. “It’s ash.”

“Yes,” she said simply. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, she was being particularly unhelpful today.

He waited a few moments longer as if she was going to elaborate, but he knew better.  The barking of a dog drew their attention, and they turned away from the mess.  There were three dogs, archaeology dogs as they were called.  He wasn’t sure he bought it, and he definitely knew she didn’t.

“Think they’re going to make their way over here?” he asked, she simply turned around and looked back at the muddy pile.

“I think if one of their handlers thinks there’s something over here they'll manage their way over.” She crouched down hovering on the balls of her feet; her arms folded over her knees; her head tilted almost to the ground.  She looked like a gargoyle studying the pile.

He sucked his teeth as he watched.  She dipped a finger down and brought it up to her face, and he made a gagging noise.

“Do not put that in your mouth,” he said.  She flipped him off without looking and rubbed her finger and thumb together.

“It’s ash,” she confirmed as if he hadn’t already known that.  She stood back up in one fluid motion shoving her hands in her pockets, rocking back onto her heels. “It’s the wrong kind of ash.”

“Uh-huh.” He just watched her as she started to pace around the area, ignoring the barking dogs and the encouragements given to them by their handlers.  He had to admit the dogs were cute, but they were working right now, so there would be no snacks and scratches.

“Stop thinking about the dogs,” she called over her shoulder as she wandered further down.  Rain began to drizzle again, and it caused little puffs of wood ash to momentarily jump into the air.  As if the whole area was sighing one last gasp.  One of the dogs, a large German Shepherd mix, bounded over towards them with a fairly keen look on its face.  He stepped in front of it, knowing if it went to the area she was looking at before she was done looking, there would be hell to pay.

“He thinks he’s found something,” the handler said, her accent placing her far from a native of the area.

“Yeah,” he said, holding his hand out for the dog to sniff.  They weren't like police dogs, more like cadaver dogs, which she also didn’t believe in.  “What’s he think he found?” he looked up at the handler who gave him a quizzical look.

“Ashes,” she said as if he was slow.  It had been explained to them before this whole thing started, the dogs could find ashes.  Ashes among the ash.

“It’s fine,” she said, walking away from the area towards a different part of what used to be the large house. “There’s nothing here.”

He was about to point out that there were ashes, but at this point, he was just being flippant.  He got out of the handler’s way, and she and the dog trotted by, indeed finding the pile of ashes among ash that he and she had already investigated.

“Well, that was fun,” he kicked the accumulating muck off of his boots as he followed her. “Are we actually going to do something here, or are you just going to be grouchy to everyone?”

She gave him a look over her shoulder, took a few more steps into what would’ve been the entryway of the now burned-out house, and stood over a pile again.  He looked down at it. They claimed that ashes turned a different color once burned a second time, he stared at the spot framed by her feet, and couldn’t see a difference.  He did know where the origin of the fire had been, though, because the fire investigator had told him.  If the house had still been standing, if the entryway hadn’t been dissolved by fire, they would’ve seen blackened blast holes from where someone had knocked on the door with an industrial flamethrower.

“Are these the right ashes?” he asked, she gave a barely perceptible bob of her head.  He knelt down where her feet were.  Even close up, he couldn’t tell the difference.  The dogs have been over the spot several times, not a single one had stopped.  Maybe these ashes look different from other ashes, maybe these ashes didn’t turn color after they been burnt a second time.

“It’s unfortunate to lose a Golem this way,” she said, watching him try to distinguish between one kind of ash from the other. “The mixing makes it almost impossible to reform them, and even if we did, they be incomplete in the worst kind of way.”

“Unfortunate or intentional?” he said, looking back up at her.  It was a bit of overkill to burn someone’s house down; unless you knew the overkill was necessary.  She said nothing and just shrugged.

“How do we restore them?” he asked, straightening up and hearing his vertebra pop.  He rubbed at his lower spine while she rocked backward on her heels.

“We don’t,” she shrugged again and walked off.

He took one last look down where she’d been standing, footprints framing the ash pile.  He still couldn’t tell the difference, but he felt wrong, leaving them here, mixed in then forgotten with the corpse of the house.  Someone that old deserved a better funeral, a more meaningful burial.  He pulled a large baggie from his coat pocket and a small garden trowel from his belt.  He scooped muddy ash into the bag, filling it to capacity and hoping he caught every last grain.

When he was done, he snapped the bag shut with its triple lock seal and cradled the whole thing in the crook of his arm.  The archaeology dogs and their handlers were still sniffing about the house, looking for the right kind of ash, the kind that changed color when it burned a second time.  He patted the bag as you would a friend's shoulder and gave the whole scene a dismissive sigh.

Then he turned and followed after, leaving the lost behind.


End file.
